I Sing of Arms and Of a Queen
by thesapphireknight
Summary: Queen Catherine/OFC
1. Chapter 1

My carriage jostled along the road, hitting every divot and stone. It had been early morning when we set out, and we had long since stopped for noon repast. As the eldest daughter of my family, I was being sent to court to serve as a lady in waiting to Queen Catherine. I was to fulfill my duty by learning courtly manners and graces, and most importantly, I was to find a husband. With no brothers to care for my father's land and titles, and no mother to sire any more offspring, it was my purpose to elevate the family through marriage, and secure our line.

I was ripe with excitement. I had never been to French court, although I'd heard tales from my mother at a young age. And if the rumors were to be believed, Queen Mary of Scotland would also be in attendance at court, awaiting her marriage to Prince Francis. Which would mean her ladies would be about as well. I did not know much about Queen Catherine, but I had been informed that I would be the youngest of her ladies. At least with Queen Mary's charges I would have people my own age about me.

I had brought with me only two trunks, one filled to the brim with dresses, the other stuffed with all the books I owned. Father had not approved, but he eventually conceded, knowing I could never part with them. I loved to read. Seated in the carriage, I let my mind wander to the outer reaches of the cosmos and back in time, flipping through pages like a determined schoolgirl, and requiring a lamp as the sun began to set.

...

Later...

...

We make the castle by nightfall. It is a huge, sprawling thing, made of stone and graced by beautiful gardens and clean cut lakes with graceful fountains erupting from the centers. The footmen carry my trunks to my room, and as I follow them I observe with fervor the tapestried walls, rich and decadent. I decide immediately that I will love it here. My father's house is gorgeous, to be sure. He is an important banner-man to King Henry. But this surpasses what I once called home. I think it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

My rooms are lavish compared with what I'm used to, but I'm sure they are nothing compared with the Queen's. A maid comes in to bring a hot pan for my bed, and I wash off before slipping into a gown and between the silken sheets. The firelight dances on the walls, and for a few moments, I imagine myself as having always lived here.

...

Later...

...

I sleep fitfully through the night, and at dawn, I rise and put on my best dress. It is customary to be presented to the queen, and I know I cannot disappoint my father. He would want me to be perfect. However, I do not meet the queen that day, or the next three that follow. Instead, I am welcomed with open arms by all the other ladies, each with a minimum of eight years (as promised!) on my age of 21. But they are kind women, and we sit together, reading, sewing, and sharing gossip. On the fourth day I finally get up the courage to ask where the queen is. They don't look up from their work, and tell me only that she is in her rooms. I see little to nothing of Queen Mary or her ladies, and it seems as though my hopes for friends my own age are to be disappointed. Nevertheless, I find myself falling into the easy rhythm of life here.

On the morning of the fifth day, I am told to ready myself to meet the queen. I put on the last of my lovely dresses, tying back my hair with ribbons, and powdering my face ever so slightly. I follow the guards and we make our way to her outer rooms. The ladies are giggling about something that Bash, the King's bastard, has done or said, and I have half a mind to join in…

But as soon as I enter the room everything else falls away as I find myself before the most radiantly beautiful woman I have ever seen.

The queen sits upon a dais in a lovely velvet gown, her hair pulled back beneath her crown with a few gentle ringlets framing her face. Her porcelain skin is as smooth and clear as cream, accentuated only by a few clusters of freckles. Her features small and delicate, a small mouth and gently pointed nose giving her the appearance of a china doll, only more splendid.

"Your majesty, this is Lady Kai, your new lady in waiting," says her steward, and I force myself into motion, and cross directly in front of her, kneeling deeply, until I hear her soft "Rise, child." Even her voice is like honey. As I stand, I lift my face to make eye contact with her. When her jade eyes lock with mine, I discover that though she is beautiful, there is something sad about her, hiding behind her eyes.

I hold eye contact for as long as I dare before saying "Your majesty, it is an honor to serve you." She quirks an eyebrow, ever so slightly. She stares at me for a long time, and the sadness is taken over by a sort of…almost curiosity.

After a moment, she nods. The ladies move to sit about the room, and I take my cue, retreating to the window seat with a book.

After a while I dare to look up from my novel. The queen is staring out the window to her right, her face bathed in sunlight, and yet with a look of melancholy disturbing it's natural beauty. I find myself thinking that I would do anything to erase that look and replace it with something better. I chide myself for the ridiculous notion. I am no knight, and the Queen of France is certainly no damsel in distress. But I have never felt this way about another in my life.

I pull my thoughts back to the present. I fear I have been staring for too long, and return my eyes to my book. After several long minutes, I dare to lift my face again. I can tell the queen is distracted, and I can surely guess why. The castle is alight with gossip about how the King has returned to court with his official mistress, Diane, and that he has taken a second mistress - Lady Kenna, one of Mary's ladies. I feel for her majesty, her distress like a dagger in my heart.

We sit together in the queen's rooms for a long time. I find that I am rather enjoying my book, and do not realize that I am smiling until the queen calls on me. "Lady Kai, pray, share with us what amuses you so." I look up to find that everyone's eyes are on me. I close my book on my finger, and only stutter for a moment before recovering my senses.

"With pleasure, your majesty. I am reading _Aeneid_ by Virgil. A relatively new publishing, but a wonderous tale."

Queen Catherine stands, and crosses next to me, hands outstretched. I hand her the book willingly, and she flips through a few pages.

"It's in Latin," she states, looking down at me. "You read Latin?" I nod. "Yes, your majesty." After a long look, she hands the book back to me, turned to the first page.

She returns to her seat, and quirks her eyebrow. I smile, and begin. "_Arma virumque cano_…I sing of arms and of a man…"

...

Later...

...

Later, I am wandering round the drawing room. The nobles are at dinner, and some food has been placed out here for the queen's ladies. I find myself staying long after everyone else has gone, and the servants come in to clear the plates.

I retreat to my window seat with my book, only half paying attention to what they're saying. I had spent all afternoon reading to the queen. Every time I looked up from the page, I could see different emotions play across her face. Sometimes she would simply be watching me. Other times she would daze out the window, longingly. My favorite was when I would catch her, fully relaxed for an instant, with her eyes shut.

I closed my book, basking in the memory, and suddenly found myself tuning in to what the servants were saying. "Did you see the Queen at dinner tonight? Dropping a goblet all over herself when Henry fed Diane a fig. I've never seen a woman more uptight," one of the ladies was saying. Another chimed in. "Wound tight as a bowstring, she is." And another "What she needs is a good fucking, although Henry's not likely to give it to her."

As they laughed I rose quickly, bile in my mouth. "That is your queen." I say sharply, and perhaps a little too loudly. "The next time I hear an unkind remark pass your lips I will have your tongue." The servants nod and bow and scatter.

I exhale, and sit, willing myself to calm down and trying with all my might to read another sentence of my book. But it is no use, and I decide to retire to my chambers. Softly the tapestries rustle as I make my exit.

I do not hear the soft exhale, nor do I see a hand move up to wipe a tear off of it's owner's face.

I head to my own chambers, as Catherine de Medici steps from behind her hiding spot, and into the light, a look of bewildered surprise gracing her features.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The next day as I enter the Queen's outer chambers, I can feel her eyes on me, as subtle and as warming as the sun. I curtsy deeply before her, and take my new place at the window seat. Today, everyone seems to be sewing, and so I attempt to do the same. But I have never had nimble fingers, and so I tangle the thread, and skewer myself with the needle at least half a dozen times. I look up from my work, taking a deep breath to calm myself, when my eyes catch the Queen's. She has been watching my struggle, a soft smile gracing her face. I find that I cannot feel ashamed, since my ineptness has caused even this small amount of joy to cross over her features. So instead, I smile back, shrug and lay the needlework down. With nothing left to do, I return to an easier pastime, and pick up my book.

I open it to where we left off yesterday, unsure whether or not to read aloud, when I hear the queen's voice calling to me. "Lady Kai, if you would be so kind as to join me?" She gestures to the pile of gorgeous pillows next to her chair on the dais. I stand, gather my skirts, and settle myself on the pillows. I see at once why she has arranged this. From up here, I can read just for her benefit, and not disturb the other ladies, who graciously tolerated my reading yesterday, but I have come to learn prefer to gossip about their husbands.

Not so with Catherine. Even with my head buried in my book I know I have her full attention. And I give it back the best I know how - I read to her, filling the air around us with beautiful words, so that they hang, undisturbed, like a cloud that we stay, lost in them, throughout the afternoon.

The sun hangs low in the sky when the bells peal out, announcing dinner. The ladies begin to put their things away, chatting quietly amongst themselves. I slowly fold my book closed, a ribbon marking our spot. When I look up at the queen, her eyes are distant, and I can almost feel the anxiety rolling off of her in waves. My thoughts return to last night, and what the servants had said. I am unfamiliar with the games men orchestrate, but it seems to me that Henry is a particularly malicious player. To flaunt so openly a mistress, and so disrespectfully in front of his lady wife and Queen…it just seems so wrong.

I wish that there was something I could do or say to ease the ordeal she must once again put herself through this evening, but I know that there isn't. So I cough, softly, gaining her eye, and say "Thank you for the pleasure of reading to you, your majesty." A small smile twists the corner of her mouth upwards, and she gives a tight nod. I nod back. "Until tomorrow," I say, and I take my leave with the other ladies.

...

Later...

...

Two days pass by in this fashion before I realize where they've gone. Life is so pleasant here. The castle is a wonder to behold, and the grounds hold endless places to explore. Attending the queen is a pleasure beyond imagining. She is kind and gentle, and loves to be read to, which is wonderful, as I love little more in the world than reading. Making her smile has somehow recently topped the list. When we are not attending the queen we have quite a bit of free time, and I roam all over, taking delight in each new discovery. Ponds, forests, horses...all are at my disposal. I'm afraid I must seem very dull to the other ladies, who want nothing more than exactly what they have. But I want to see and experience all the castle has to offer. I am alive with delight here.

Her majesty, however, seems more tired and agitated with each passing day. Finding my bravery, I once asked her First Lady, plump old Lady Margaery, if the Queen rests well at night. As First Lady, Margaery is given a small room right outside of the queen's chambers, in order to be at her beck and call. If anything was happening, a First Lady should see, or at least _hear_. But, in truth, Lady Margaery is rather old and questions bear repeating in her presence.

Today, seated so close to her on my cushions, I am ideally placed to observe. As I move through the book, I flick my eyes occasionally to her face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, and how they never seem to focus on anything in particular. It's obvious she's not sleeping well, and seems to have a migraine. Her hands grip the arms of her chair like a lifeline, and when the guards move in to raise the curtains to let the afternoon sun in, she looks positively faint. I find that I cannot stay still any longer, and when I come to the end of the next section I quietly shut my book. I move softly to lean in to her, noting that I don't seem to be attracting any of the other ladies' attention. "Your majesty," I say softly, "please pardon the intrusion, but are you feeling alright?" Her eyes find mine, and she looks shocked. Then she suddenly closes her eyes with an exhale, gripping the chair arms tighter. "Majesty, is there anything I can do?" I whisper, not wanting to draw attention. Slowly she is able to open her eyes. She gives a minute shake of her head. "It will pass." Then mutters under her breath, "It would pass easier if I could sleep," before looking extremely shocked that she spoke those words.

"There are still many hours before supper. Would you like to lie down?" The Queen turned her head to look at me, and the intensity with which she searched my face took me aback. Questioning, curious...as if she were unused to having someone care about her well-being. Whatever she saw there seemed to convince her that my thought was sound, for she quickly dismissed the ladies to go enjoy the rest of their day on the grounds. I am about to retire when she asks me to join her and Margaery, and if I might read to her a bit more. I agree, sitting outside her chambers while Margaery redresses her for bed.

When I re-enter she is safely tucked in bed. I draw up a stool to sit by the bedside and pull out the book to read, encouraged by her easy smile. After several minutes, I chance a look up, only to find her asleep. Her face is so relaxed, all lines of worry erased from her features. She is stunningly gorgeous, and I feel a stirring deep in my abdomen. A stray hair falls slowly down her forehead to her face, and it is all I have in me not to reach up and brush it to the side...I suddenly realize what a dangerous position I am in, and have all but stood up to leave...when I find I cannot. I decide to stay and read for a while longer, but mark the spot in the book for future reference.

Not long after I begin again, she shows signs of discomfort and begins to fret in her sleep - brow creasing and small noises starting in the back of her throat. I place the book down and kneel by her side, unsure of how to help, or even if my help will be welcomed...but before I know it I have placed a hand lightly on her forehead. I almost draw it back, for fear that I am taking something without permission, but then she presses into my hand, still continuing to fret. I begin to hum softly a song that I learned as a child. Slowly, whatever had a grip on her eases away, and she relaxes. Before removing my hand I allow myself to touch the crown of her widow's peak, just the tips of my fingers brushing a small amount of strands. It is not enough, but it will have to be.

I return to read to her again allowing myself a quarter of an hour to make sure she stays free of nightmares. But eight minutes have barely passed when I sense a change in her again. I move close, and begin to hum, trying with all my might to keep my hands to myself. Seconds pass, and then she awakens with a gasp and a muffled scream. I'm still close to her, but once she sees my face she quickly rolls away. Her shoulders shake as if she is crying. "Your Majesty" I call out softly, but she stays turned away. I want, desperately to reach out to her, but protocol is back in place. I could no more touch her than I could the moon. So I begin to hum again. At first the shaking increases, but then, bit by bit, it lessens. As I finish a verse, I softly call out "Majesty?" and she finally turns back around. I am at a loss of what to say, so I just hold my hand out to her. She slowly comes back to me, like a frightened animal, and puts her shoulder in line with my hand.

I gently descend the hand, resting on her shoulder, thumb stroking. My chest swells with joy. She let me touch her. I try to memorize the shape of her shoulder, the angle of her shoulder blade. The texture of her skin through the gown. We stay silent for a few moments, and her eyelids flutter closed as she fights to get her breathing back under control. I see how she shakes, and I leave her momentarily to get a cool cloth, pressing it against her forehead, and then to the sides of her neck. Slowly she exhales, and opens her eyes, although they do not find mine, instead staring into the fire. I stay very still, afraid to move or break this very precious moment. However, break it must, and a very short time later she tells me it is probably time for supper.

"Will you be joining the king for supper, your Majesty?" I ask her, and she shakes her head. "No, I will stay here." I nod, and offer to have something sent up for her, which she accepts with surprise. Not knowing what else to say, but not yet ready to leave, I ask her how her head is feeling. "Much better, thanks to your care." I stand, taking my cue, and curtsy deeply, before deciding to take one last chance. "It was my pleasure, your Majesty." I make eye contact with her a smile gently, as she rings for Lady Margaery. "I hope you are able to rest well tonight."

Margaery appears, and the Queen nods me out. As I make for the exit her voice rings out, calling my name. I turn. "Majesty?" She studies me for a moment. "Report to my rooms in the morning with Lady Margaery. I would have you learn the ways of a First Lady, and it is high time we trained someone new, do you not think so, Lady Margaery?" I looked over at Margaery, a short and plump delightful woman, easily in her late 50's. Margaery looked me over with an astonished smile. "As you wish, your majesty."

We both bow and make our exit. During dinner, I am told that I am the youngest first lady the queen has ever taken. Lady Elaine tells me that the queen only likes people older than her about her, as she finds youthfulness a trial. The other women giggle, but Margaery is still staring at me. "You have an old soul in you, I'll grant you that. I think you'll do just fine."


	3. Chapter 3

I wake with the dawn the next morning. I cannot remember a time when I felt more excited, not even as a child. I dress, barely paying attention in my rush, until I realize that I will be bathing and dressing the queen this morning. Something about that thought makes me apply just a touch extra of color to my cheeks and lips before I depart to meet Margaery. We step inside the queen's bedchambers, and I experience once again the all-too-familiar loss of breath when my eyes settle on her majesty.

She lays, reposed, against the white sheets, her hair fanned out all around her, catching the morning rays of sun. I could be content to look forever, but Margaery has already moved to open the curtains, and I must step quickly to catch up with her. Over the next few hours, I learn all of the morning rituals currently performed by Margaery. The drawing back of the curtains, unlocking the door for the maids who set the fire and prepare the bath, which salts and oils the queen prefers in her bath, and what amounts, undressing the queen…what the skin on the queen's back looks like - an expanse of cream dotted here and there by flecks of nutmeg freckles.

My mouth waters, and I try my best to focus on the task at hand. I am only marginally successful, but I pick it up. Soon the queen is bathed and redressed with makeup applied and hair pinned just so. This is the Catherine I am familiar with. But the Catherine I saw this morning…she is who I want to know.

—

I take to my new station very quickly. For all the amount of closeness the queen allows me, compared with her other ladies, she remains very distant at first, and I don't dare press my luck. She has so few people in her life, maybe she truly prefers the solitude. But I wonder at the lack of visits from the king. Even with two mistresses, it is odd that he finds no time for his wife. Even so, Catherine waits to retire until well past 10pm each night. She makes no move to call for him, but I think she is waiting for him. It pains me to see how alone she is.

I do my best to unobtrusively fill the void, and bit by bit she allows me more space in her day. I begin each of her days with a friendly face, I make sure she has ample amount of food brought to her throughout the day, I read to her each afternoon, and almost every evening after the other ladies retire. While there is still little to no verbal communication, I will take what I can get.

This morning we are preparing a lavish feast for the king's 50th name day. Catherine has spared no detail in making this what is sure to be the most talked about event of the season. I am happy to see the queen out of her chambers, and doing something that brings such joy to her face, but that joy is short lived. The king walks by her, Diane on his arm, without so much as a glance. Nobels stare at her, mocking behind their fans, and she looks so lost. I wonder, as we return to her rooms, what it must feel like to always be fighting such an uphill battle.

That evening, as we sit by the fire, I reading aloud to her and she lost in thought, I hear a slight sniffle. I look up, and am immediately aware that the queen is fighting to control herself. I battle for a moment against letting her know I've seen, but then the situation starts to worsen, and I do the only thing I can do. I complain about the heat and ash from the fire, move over to her and give her my handkerchief - Our hands touch, and there is an electric shock and a moment, removed from time, where my fingertips squeeze hers. And she allows it. - and then move to prod the logs. I can tell she is grateful…her shocked but heart warmed expression follows me as I return to my chair. I look up at her briefly, give her a gentle smile, and am about to return to my book when I realize she is still staring.

I pluck up my courage, and decide I have had enough of reading other's words in her presence. I want to speak my own. "Your majesty," I begin softly. "If I may be so bold, I wanted to thank you for taking me on as your First Lady. It is an honor I never could have dreamed of, and one that I hope someday to be worthy of." A small smile graces her features and she continues to stare, before before looking quickly to the side. I am just beginning to wonder what I've done wrong, when I had a startling realization. The queen has become a solitary creature - when is the last time anyone had a conversation with her?

I cast about for something to say, and my eyes settle on a small tapestry in the corner of the room. It lingers there momentarily, until I feel her gaze on me again. I look back and smile. "It is a beautiful tapestry, your majesty." Startled, she follows my gaze, until she sees it, her expression softens. "Yes. My mother gave it to me on the day of my engagement to Henry. A small piece of home to bring with me to a foreign land." She breaks off, and almost looks sad. "Might I ask what it was like? Growing up in Italy?"

She looks back at me, studying me like I am a puzzle. "And what tales of my childhood would have any interest to you?" she asks. Before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of my mouth - "Your majesty, there isn't a thing about you that wouldn't interest me." She stops short, and a feeling of dread fills my stomach. "Apologies, my queen. I spoke no lie, but I fear I have overstepped." She shakes her head slowly. "No, my dear. I suppose I have grown unaccustomed to being found interesting." I bow my head a bit, waiting for her decision. "I suppose I will consent to tell you a few stories, if you will tell me some of your own. I have grown accustomed to your voice." She falters. "It helps." I smile, and nod.

We start out slowly, fumbling through questions and answers - she asks almost as many as I do, and tells me fantastical stories of her youth. I notice how she shies away from a few key dates, and echoes of the rumors I've heard in the servant's halls about a childhood trauma surface in my mind. But I push them down. It is not my place, nor is it my business to be curious about such things. We stay up late into the night, the firelight bouncing off her face, making her seem like a golden goddess. Sometime after midnight she gets lost in old memories, and I insist that she get some rest. I help her to bed, standing watch over her until she's fast asleep before returning to my own bedchamber, now located right next to Margaery's.

—

From then on, it is me whom she calls on for everything. I am almost always at her side from dawn until dusk, and even meet the king, although not by her design. I have felt his eyes on me for over a week, and have spent much of my time evading him, when he walks in on our reading hour, unannounced. Catherine looks surprised, but a I can see a small glimmer of hope in her eyes. It almost destroys me. That Henry can treat her so, and she can still find a way to love him…he could never deserve her, not if he lived a thousand lifetimes.

His majesty, however, pays his wife no mind, and instead introduces himself to me - I'm sure with the intent of gaining a bedwarmer at least for that night. I can see Catherine, out of the corner of my eye, turn away resignedly. I smile kindly at the King, and steer the conversation toward the novel I am reading aloud to her majesty, asking him what his thoughts are on Chaucer. An older text, I say, but most amusing. Both royals look startled, but I continue in earnest until he loses interest and the matter is dropped. Somehow, I know I've made the right decision, for Catherine seems to pull me even closer to her.

—

The next morning, I notice a tension in my queen's gaze, desire is close to brimming in her eyes as she looks at her husband over breakfast. I stand in the corner, as is my place, and am shocked when Catherine opens her mouth to speak to her husband. "I was pleased by your visit last night, Henry. I had hoped you would stay a bit longer." The king laughed. "And do what?" Catherine recoiled, as if slapped. Henry studied her momentarily, then grabbed a turkey leg and said "We are far past such things, Catherine." My beautiful queen stayed silent for the rest of her meal.

That night I am roused from my sleep by a cry in the dark. I am tying up my robe when I hear it again, and begin racing towards the queen's chambers. I throw open the side doors, and see her, bathed in a shallow shaft of moonlight, bolt upright in her bed, gasping for breath. I rush to her side, and, forgetting myself, kneel on her bed and gently take her face in my hands. "Your majesty." I say, but she stares past me. I try again and again to no avail, and finally breathe out "Catherine." She looks at me, tears dripping down her face, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead. "I'm - I'm sorry." She gasps. I shake my head. "No. No apologies." I rub the back of her hands. "You're fine now. It was just a dream." She nods, staring down at our hands. I wonder, briefly, if I should pull mine away, but I don't.

Instead, I begin to trace delicate patterns on the back of her hands. After a few moments her breathing normalizes, but we both sit, locked in time, staring at her hands in mine for many minutes. She shivers, and I come back to reality. "Might I draw you a bath, your majesty?" She nods.

I stand, slowly letting go of her hands, and cross to draw water and heat a bath. Minutes later I return to collect her. We walk together to the bathing room, and I may just have imagined it, but it feels as though she leans on me a bit. I undress her from her night gown, ashamed at where my thoughts turn, unbidden. Instead, I concentrate on helping her in, and making sure she's comfortable. I rinse off her back, and she leans forward onto herself. As I move to wash her hair she leans back, her entire front floating elegantly in the water, her eyes closed. I allow myself a half a moment to revere her, before moving onto her breasts. Suddenly her eyes flutter and she moans softly. As quick as it comes it's gone, and her eyes widen, and her face flushes with embarrassment.

"Apologies, my queen, I did not intend to -" and just like that she's crying. "Oh no, no your majesty, please -" she shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. "Your majesty, please -" she reaches out, quick as lightening, and grabs one of my hands with hers, bringing it up to her forehead. I play with the soft hairs at the crown of her head while she tries to calm down. Suddenly, without any warning she offers "Henry hasn't touched me in years." I swallow and stay silent, not sure how my words could help her. "It's just that…and after…I couldn't ever…" she sighs and inhales. "I'm not stone." she says, her voice breaking.

I place a hand under her chin, and lift it up. "I understand." I say, softly, doing my best not to frighten her off. Maintaining eye contact I stand, removing my outer robe to free my arms of the ridiculous sleeves. I kneel before her once more, placing my arm on the side of the tub. "With your majesty's permission?" She swallows hard, but nods, and I dip my fingers into the water.


End file.
